Love in the Time of Brita

When we were first married we rented a tiny apartment in Provo, Ut. where we were continuing our college studies. Tyler and I quickly realized that the taste of the water in our new state was killing us softly. Soon the inside of our small fridge was adorned with a clear plastic Brita water pitcher, and our taste buds sighed in relief.

Eight years later, we are once again living in a home with disgusting-tasting water, though this time it was due to 75 year old plumbing rather than any short comings of our municipal water supply. The water pouring out of our sink's tap tastes more like prenatal vitamins then the sweet nectar of life. So, again, we've turned to Brita to work it's magic. Only this time, instead of needing enough water to quench the thirst of two measly BYU students, there are FIVE of us. FIVE people in one home...Thirsty. Day in and day out. Thirsty. Needing water. Demanding water. more, More, MORE WATER! Even after purchasing the largest Brita container that Wal-mart had to offer, it is still a full-time job for me to keep it filled up. The empty plastic square perches on the edge of the kitchen counter, mocking me relentlessly with its own insatiable thirst.

And then...recently I walked into the kitchen and saw my husband pick up the Brita, take off it's lid, and turn on the tap. I was mesmerized by the water trickling down through the filter. I stopped. I stared. This was something new.

"Hon? Are you filling up the Brita???"

"Yep."

"Wow. That's a first."

"Yeah...the other day I heard you say to your Dad how much you hated having to fill it up all the time."

"I did? And... you remembered?"

"Mmm-hhm. So, I figured I'd better start helping out."

And then my Brita runneth over.

Such a simple definition of love was standing in my kitchen: Seeing a need your spouse has and wanting to fulfill it... or re-fill it, as the case may be.